Wreck-ognition: A Poetry Anthology
by MaterLisa
Summary: This is just a collection of poems based on "Wreck-It Ralph." Most of them will focus on the Core Four. I will add more poems when inspiration comes. Rated T just in case. Enjoy!
1. Glitch

Glitch

_(Vanellope is in the Fungeon)_

It hadn't worked before

Today because of my annoying twitch.

They called me horrid names

Like "reject," "weirdo," "freak," "mistake" – and "glitch."

The racers broke my kart

And drove my sense of hope into a ditch.

This time I thought my plans

Would probably go off without a hitch,

But I was wrong again.

I never thought that Ralph could be a snitch.

That's why I'm locked up here

And treated like some sort of dirty witch.

I want to scream, "What's wrong

With being me? I'm more than just a glitch!"

But no-one listens here –

They walk on and ignore me when I twitch.

I think back on this day,

This crazy day when fortunes seemed to switch.

I had a friend in Ralph,

The one person who didn't call me "glitch."

I really loved his kart –

If I was being kind, I'd call it "kitsch."

He taught me how to drive

So that I was able to scratch this itch

To get out, hit the road

And maybe win a trophy, and be rich.

But then he sold me out

And crushed my hope again – the little snitch.

But then, if this game broke

Because of me, they'd throw it in a ditch.

I guess he had a point –

I'd only bring bad luck, like a Black Witch.

I wish that I could race.

I wish I could be more than just a glitch.

I wish I was happy.

That won't happen, because I'm just a glitch.


	2. If Anyone Asks

If Anyone Asks

If anyone asks, I'm fine.

Great.

Super.

Hunky-dory.

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah.

Of course, they might not ask

(They've seen this stuff before),

But in case they do,

That's what I'll say.

I'm fine.

. . .

Actually, that's not true.

I'm lying on my bed

With a bump on my head

And an ache in my heart,

Thinking, "Jiminy jaminy,

What did I do wrong

This time?"

. . .

Everyone probably thinks I'm pretty clumsy.

I've hit my head on a cupboard door,

Slipped on a patch of ice,

Tripped over a tree root,

Even fallen from a ten-story building

(And lived).

Plus, there's the classic

Walked-into-a-door excuse.

I don't know how many times _that's_ happened.

But I'm a video game character.

I regenerate.

I live.

I'm still here.

I'm fine.

. . .

It's a little embarrassing, though,

To have everyone look at you

As you walk through Game Central Station

And ask what happened.

Thank Code for my hammer.

It's great for fixing things.

It's great for fixing the cut lip,

The missing teeth,

The black eye,

The broken nose,

The bruised rib,

The broken heart.

. . .

Okay, not so much the last one.

But it's fine.

Really.

. . .

I don't think I can remember

What Tammy was like

Before all this started.

Was she always so violent?

There was that time in the Nesquik sand . . .

But I thought that was just

To make the Laffy Taffies laugh.

It wasn't because she hated me.

. . .

Oh my land!

That's a horrible thought!

Of course she doesn't hate me.

She loves me.

She doesn't mean to be like this.

It's in her code to be violent.

It's in her code to have traumatic memories

That make her angry.

And what she does . . .

It's just me.

It's my fault,

A lot of it.

But I'll try harder next time.

And if something goes wrong,

I can fix it.

. . .

So . . . yeah.

If anyone asks, I'm not fine.


	3. Now, How Could Anyone Be Torn Apart

Now, How Could Anyone Be Torn Apart

Now, how could anyone be torn apart

If they had never been stitched together?

And how could they have broken people's hearts

If they'd been damaged since . . . well, forever?

The boyfriend that I had was never real,

The memories we made – each one untrue.

So why do I still cry? Because I feel

That I should be with him when I'm with you.

I try to fill my mind with your sweet face –

I tell myself I'm glad to be your wife.

Please understand: I'm in a painful place

'Cause Doctor Brad Scott still defines my life.

I know you're used to broken glass and bricks,

But broken hearts are difficult to fix.


	4. Wake Up, Ralph!

**Wake Up, Ralph!**

Wake up, Ralph!

You lie so still and look so lumpy,

And your face frowns – don't be grumpy!

When you're in bed you're not much fun,

So get up and enjoy the Sun!

. . .

Wake up, Ralph!

It's high time to move your molasses

And wash away your smelly gases

Ready for a brand new day!

Come on, I wanna go and play!

. . .

Wake up, Ralph!

It's me, Vanellope, the glitch!

If you get up, I'll make you rich!

That's odd. I thought you'd fall for it,

But then you're smart, I must admit.

. . .

Wake up, Ralph!

Your deathly silence kinda scares me.

Oh, Felix has made some repairs. He

Patched up the old finish line;

His magic hammer made it shine.

. . .

Wake up, Ralph!

You can't just miss the final race,

You got me there in the first place!

Don't you want to see their smiles

When I drive down the winning miles?

. . .

Wake up, Ralph.

I'm looking closer and I worry.

Suddenly my vision's blurry.

You're pale from your head to feet.

I find your heart; it doesn't beat.

. . .

Wake up, Ralph.

If it's a joke, then it's not funny!

If you're depressed, don't be – it's sunny!

If you feel sick, then where's the pain?

There's something wrong. Won't you explain?

. . .

Wake up, Ralph.

You still lie calm in the castle bed.

A sudden thought fills me with dread:

Last night I saw a flash of white . . .

Was Turbo there? That can't be right!

. . .

Wake up, Ralph.

Tell me that this isn't true.

King Candy hasn't got to you.

There was no poison; no, you're swell.

It's definitely _not_ farewell.

. . .

Wake up, Ralph.

You're the only friend I've known.

Please don't leave me all alone.

Even though you're cold as stone,

I won't believe your soul has flown.

. . .

Wake up, Ralph.

Please wake up.


	5. Memories of Turbo

**Memories of Turbo**

I know this isn't a real poem

With a rhyme scheme and all that,

But there's a lot of stuff in my head

That needs to get out somehow.

. . .

I remember the first time we met.

I was in Game Central Station

With nothing to do.

I sat at one end of a bench,

All alone.

He sat at the other end,

Surrounded by admirers.

I didn't think much of him.

Dull grey skin,

Creepy yellow eyes . . .

He was hardly a dreamboat.

More like the Titanic

After it sank.

He wore a bright red-and-white racing outfit

And he had about half a dozen other characters

Standing in a semi-circle around him.

One of them – a guy dressed in dark-blue –

Glanced at me and sniggered.

"Hey, you!" he yelled.

"What have you done with my tyre pump?"

_Unless I'm right next to some tubby leprechaun that's visible only to him, _

_He must be talking to me._

I frowned.

"Aw, don't be like that," he moaned.

"I thought fat people were supposed to be jolly!"

Everyone laughed –

Except the guy on the bench,

Who folded his arms.

His next words still ring in my ears:

"Think about it.

Is he fat, or just muscly?"

His voice was so clear and every sound so deliberate

That no-one argued with him.

He slid along

To smile at me with bright yellow teeth.

"The name's Turbo," he said.

We shook hands.

"Ralph," I told him.

"Wreck-It Ralph."

. . .

The next months were a little less lonely than before.

The gameplay was still the same, of course.

I was always gonna wreck it.

But later,

When the players left the arcade

And Mr Litwak turned the lights off,

I would catch the next train to _Turbo-Time_

(Or he would drive to _Fix-It Felix Jr._)

And we hung out.

We could moan about the players,

Like the teenage boy with the ridiculous haircut

Or the bratty little girl who kept scratching the screen for no reason.

We could moan about other characters,

Like the Nicelanders who ran away from me

Or the _Turbo-Time_ twins trying to hog the limelight.

His company was refreshing

As I let my feelings flow out.

I guess, in a way,

We were "going out,"

Although we never left our games.

"Let's keep it private," he ordered.

"Don't want gossip, do we?"

So it was decided.

. . .

And yes, I admit it,

We kissed.

Once.

I didn't even like it.

His wet lips stole the air from my lungs.

His tongue wormed around my mouth

And tried to burrow into my throat and choke me.

I was the one who pulled away first.

"I love you," he whispered.

I stared at him.

"Wanna do more?" he asked.

I shook my head.

What was wrong with me?

. . .

The truth paid a visit later.

I was still a Bad Guy,

Capital B, Capital G.

But he could reassure me that

I wasn't a bad guy.

That was all I needed.

It wasn't about sex or romance

Or wet kisses.

It was about the talking.

It was about having another guy to be with

When no-one else wanted me around.

I didn't want a lover.

I needed a friend.

. . .

I had to tell him.

"The time we've had together has been . . . Turbo-Tastic," I said,

For want of a better word.

He grinned.

"But I can't go out with you anymore," I added.

He stopped grinning.

The next minutes were a blur.

All I know is that

A part of Turbo died that night.

And when he regenerated,

He wasn't the same.

. . .

_RoadBlasters_ got plugged in the next day.

The rest is history.

. . .

Sometimes I wish that the Cy-Bug I used to know

Hadn't gone into the light.

I think of him burning in Diet Cola

And I shudder.

I knew he was meant to be a Good Guy –

And I thought he really was a good guy.

We could have talked, cleared the air.

We could have made things work.

We could have made a change.

. . .

But then

I think of _her_

Running up to meet me,

Giving me a big hug,

Telling corny jokes,

Laughing at herself,

Racing every day,

Winning almost every day,

Being happy.

I imagine her under Turbo's rule –

Having her kart destroyed,

Being pushed into a mud puddle,

Eventually getting sucked into unplugged oblivion –

And I realise that

If I had to choose between Vanellope and Turbo,

I'd know who I really wanted.


	6. Wants and Needs

**Wants and Needs**

_(To the tune of "My Favourite Things" from "The Sound of Music")_

Fireworks, ice sculptures, their admiration

Coming from fulfilling my aspiration,

Hundreds of shiny gold medals to flaunt,

These are the things that I desperately want.

. . .

Tall birthday cakes reaching up to the ceiling,

One of those pies would be really appealing –

Who am I kidding? I'll take a croissant:

These are the things that I desperately want.

. . .

He avoids me,

They're annoyed with me,

And I'm feeling sad,

But if I can just get the things that I want,

Maybe I won't feel so Bad!

. . .

I've climbed the tower that blights _Hero's Duty_.

Look, here's the medal – and my, it's a beauty!

Just when I think it's success guaranteed,

_She_ steals the thing that I desperately need!

. . .

A kart of her own and the chance to be racing,

Trophies that for fifteen years she's been chasing,

Friends she can count on to help her succeed,

These are the things that she desperately needs.

. . .

Awful glitching,

Painful twitching –

I can see she's sad,

But if I can give her the things that she needs,

Maybe she won't feel so bad!

. . .

Fixing the world that I've already broken,

Taking back every false promise I've spoken,

Erasing damage I've done with this jaunt,

Right now, that's all that I desperately want.

. . .

Me spending every day treated like garbage,

Me being brave, saving her game from carnage,

Vanellope liking me ("How can that be?"),

These are the things they all needed to see.

. . .

It's quite shocking

That we're talking –

Still, I'm feeling glad.

I may not have got everything that I want,

But now I don't feel so Bad!


End file.
